


Of Roses and Dahlias

by empressofhorror



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressofhorror/pseuds/empressofhorror
Summary: We do not know when the sadness in our hearts will call death to us. We must only wait for his cold touch, and the pleasure of his kiss, wherever and whenever it might occur. This, Elisabeth, knows well.





	Of Roses and Dahlias

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fought me for a good four weeks at least, but now that she's finally done, I adore it, and it would've never come to light if it hadn't been for @prvserpine on Twitter for giving me the inspiration for the concept, and the rest of the vampire sluts group chat. 🖤

After being woken by her maids, Elisabeth found herself having had wandered out onto the balcony despite the early hour; almost as if she were a mere specter, a flicker of passing consciousness, rather than a living mortal who breathed. The promise of seeing the rising dawn had called to some part of her like a moth to a flame; and so, without her really knowing how, or why, Elisabeth almost seemed to see herself then, sitting there like a dead thing on one of the plush couches, huddled with a knitted blanket made from the finest of wool, whilst the late spring air brushed against her cheeks, and golden tendrils of light snaked across the land. The smell of freesias hung in the air. 

She felt empty. Cold, and aching to the core of her.

How long had it been since she had felt anything other than this? 

A knock sounded from her bedchamber door that led to the bathroom, pulling her from her reverie, and she cleared her throat before answering, “Yes?”

The muffled voice of one of the maids resounded from the other side in a small shout so as to be heard, “Your bath is ready for you, your majesty.”

“Alright.” Elisabeth left the balcony then and tossed her blanket onto a passing chair as she made her way into the bathroom; with warmth immediately enveloping her as soon as the door opened. The room was not particularly large, maybe less than half the size of her main bedchamber at most. The floor was tiled in pale beige marble and in front of a claw foot tub that was so big, it likely could fit two people in it. An ornate rug of red and gold coloring laid at its feet.

Steam rose from the tub which was full of milk instead of water, and red roses, and the crimson of dahlia petals floated on the surface of it. It looked like blood upon fresh snow. She turned to the maids, “You may leave now.”

One of the maids opened her mouth and stammered out, “B-but your highness, we still need to help you bathe!”

Elisabeth felt her eyes narrow, “I am not a child who could possibly be prone to drowning if left unattended. I can bathe  _ myself _ just fine.”

When they still hadn’t moved she sighed harshly through her nose, “This day is more than long, and I’ve only just seen the dawn. If you would be so kind, I would like to be alone for a while.  _ Now _ .”

They all nodded and filed out after that, and only when she was once more alone did Elisabeth feel herself sag in relief to no longer have to put on a face. A masquerade mask for others to see her through, but who never seemed to have the eyes to see  _ her _ beneath it.

She slipped out of her nightgown, the pale silk of it pooling at her feet before stepping into the steaming bath with a hiss at the heat of it. A sigh of pleasure soon took its place soon enough, and Elisabeth found herself wondering then, with eyes closed as she was, sitting there in that tub, just what it would be like to feel at peace like this, for always?

Cold air caressed her face for a moment, and Elisabeth’s eyes snapped open to the sight of the tall ceiling staring right back at her as the hot fire of anxiety bloomed in her chest, and her heart began to pound in her ears. Why was the air cold?

She looked across the room and found that the sole window— whilst large with a marble windowsill beneath it— was firmly closed shut. But she was no longer alone.

A man more beautiful than words she had knowledge of, sat cross-legged on the windowsill, staring at her with grey eyes so pale, they reminded her of winter frost. Clear and inevitable and all-encompassing to the very marrow of her. His hair was halfway pulled back at the top, while the rest of it hung loosely, kissing his shoulders as it were with the curl of it; framing his elfin face like a sunlight halo to something almost divine.

A choked scream leaped from her throat as she sank lower into the bath, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glared in half terror and shame at the being that sat before her. For Elisabeth to merely call him a man felt woefully inadequate to the very sight of him. He was both man and other. Something both foreign and familiar to her, all at once. Like a dream barely remembered through the fog of waking and the horror of time.

A chill ran down her spine.

“Who are you? Why are you here? How did you  _ get  _ in here?” Her questions poured out of her like a dam unleashed, and she couldn’t seem to stop them from leaving her.

He did not answer her at first, but, when he finally spoke, his voice rent the air like a sword made of velvet and sweet things and dark promises not yet given, “Hello again, Elisabeth.”

She clenched her teeth at his words. She did not know this man-creature...at least she did not think that she did despite what the thundering sound of her heart said, “I don’t know you, who are you?”

He smiled then, his gaze flickering to his folded hands that were in his lap for a moment before they returned to her own. The smile, it was a small thing, private feeling with the way the edges of his lips curved up as one does when remembering something quite fond.

“Have you forgotten me so soon, dearest queen of mine? For when we’d last seen each other, we had danced the night away underneath the glow of moonlight hitting the chandeliers, and your wedding dress had shined iridescent.” His gaze roamed down her neck with such focus, Elisabeth swore that she could’ve almost  _ felt _ it, like a finger feather-light upon her skin. She felt hot from the flush that had rushed to the surface of it.

“What a shame then, that it was not me that you were wearing it for.”

Slowly, the memories began to pour into her mind, until it felt as if Elisabeth was going to drown in them. Flashes of white lace and leather, of continuous laughter that had bubbled up from her throat like the champagne that she had been nigh drunk on. Of weightlessness so great she barely felt her feet touch the ground. Of being looked at not with the intent of her being a piece in a game she was not apart of, but...as if she was something more. Loved. Wanted. And, oh how she’d  _ wanted _ it.

Elisabeth remembered then, how not too long before she had met Franz Joseph she had fallen while climbing a pine tree, and after she had woken up, she claimed to have never been able to remember anything that she had dreamed. But sitting there in her bathtub, Elisabeth remembered well. She remembered how the being before her had carried her like a bride to her bed, his face gazing down upon her in a mix of fear and wonder, both. How when he’d made to leave, she’d reached for him, arm outstretched for him to stay. To please not go and leave her to the horror that was life. That was  _ this _ . He’d merely smiled at her like she was foolish— like she was precious— and gifted her with a kiss between her brows that had sent her back into the arms of life.

When Elisabeth looked up at him then, she felt wetness upon her cheeks and tasted salt upon her tongue, as she whispered his name that as both omen and promise, both, “Death.”

She could barely look at him then, for his smile at her was as blinding as if she were to gaze directly at the sun itself. But she still tried to, nevertheless.

“Yes. It seems that you haven’t really forgotten me after all.” Death let out what sounded to Elisabeth’s ears to be a sigh of relief, perhaps.

“I’m glad for it.”

When he did not speak again after a moment of silence, Elisabeth asked him again, “Why are you here? I am not dead or dying, Death.”

“For now you are whole and hale, yes, but,” he scrutinized his gaze upon her for a heartbeat, “ah, yes, there it is. Around your heart, woven so tightly it looks like a second skin, there’s a darkness there. A shadow that lingers. Whispers upon the mind.”

His gaze caught on hers, “You have a habit, Elisabeth, of calling for me. Like a siren’s song of the heart that I am wholly compelled to answer to.”

She fell quiet at that, a large part of her not wanting to believe him; wanting to call him a liar. But a deeper part of her knew that he spoke true. That whatever manner of magic that wove his form into being must be like that of the fae in the tales her father would tell her as a child. Of beautiful creatures given human likeness, but not, who could do all manner of things, save lie. Elisabeth found Death to be much the same as them.

“It was this call that has led me here to you now, despite the current circumstance of it.” Elisabeth felt herself flush further at his words, and when she said nothing to refute his claim, she saw him get up then, and her heart jolted like it had been borne anew.

Death wore a velvet suit of black and azure that clung to his tall form, and it made him look like a midnight dream as he practically glided over the floor towards the door. For a small moment, Elisabeth felt pinpricks of sadness at the thought that he might be leaving, despite the fact that she was still soaking naked in a bath of milk and flowers. That she was a woman married, besides.

But that thought left as quickly as it came once she heard the telltale click of the lock falling into place. Slowly, he turned to look at her then, and Elisabeth finally knew then what that emotion was in his grey eyes. Constant, insistent longing. And the nigh on teeth breaking resolve that one tried to hold onto so as to not fall into the abandon of acting upon it.

A shudder of an exhale left his lips, “Now, where was I?”

Elisabeth shut her eyes then, afraid beyond measure that her own dark eyes were not only reflecting his emotions like polished brass; but that those same feelings she hid from were not wholly just Death’s own. But that she wanted him, too.

She nearly jolted out of her skin then, when the feeling of a hand both warm, and frighteningly cold, touched her cheek with such tenderness that it left her gasping like a drowned woman who had just been gifted air. Her eyes snapped open. Kneeling there before her, one leg flush to the floor as if ready to propose, Death cradled her face with a hand, his eyes boring down into her own, as he asked her in a voice that was barely a whisper, just a murmur of sound, “What is it that you  _ want _ , Elisabeth?”

“Do you long for the riches and horrors alike of life, or do you long for the freedom, the  _ peace _ , that only I can offer?”

She had no words to give him, for even Elisabeth herself, did not know the answer. She could only shake her head, looking away from him. From his frost eyes that could see to the truth of her, even if it was one that she did not want to look at herself, “I...I don’t know.”

Death grabbed her by the chin and forced her gaze back to his own, eyes never wavering for a moment, and rendering her motionless. He smiled something bittersweet— sardonic, “Oh, no,  _ you know. _ You’re just not willing to admit it. That heady rush of power you feel when the world is at your fingertips, and life is limitless. You thrive on it.”

He reached his other hand to the base of her throat, long fingers ghosting her jugular as if they were naught but kisses of air. Her heart was racing in her ears. He was so close to her that Elisabeth could feel his breath on her face, the smell of it sweet like something that she could almost remember, but not fully. Death’s lips hovered over her own. Gently, she felt him press his fingertips into her jugular, his nails knife sharp enough to draw blood if he wanted to...but he didn’t. He stopped just before the skin could truly be pierced, and Elisabeth let out a rush of a breath she didn’t even remember holding, “And yet, for almost as long as you’ve breathed you’ve longed for more. For the soul high of oblivion. For the ambrosian kiss of death.”

Death pulled away from her then, and stood to his full height, leaving her there, shaken and wanting something that she didn’t think that she even had the courage to ask for. To even  _ want _ .

Elisabeth watched him as he walked to one of the nearby shelves, eyes roaming over the bottles and lit candles, his hand finally resting upon the white washcloth that rested next to her over the side of the bathtub. He said nothing as he waited for her to speak. And so she swallowed past her dry throat and asked him, “Is it so wrong, then?”

Death raised a brow at her, continuing her to go on.

“To want both.”

Their gazes met and he smiled that same, small, fond smile at her, only this time it was laced through with pride, “No.” 

He brushed some of her wet hair away from her face; the fondness, seeping into his movements— his voice, “No, darling Elisabeth, it is not wrong at all.”

The smile slipped away from Death’s face again as he looked at her with what seemed to be a renewed sense of seriousness borne from an urgency of the heart, “With that being said, I bring with me this time, a proposition.”

Elisabeth looked up at him then, her eyes searching, questioning, wondering at his words for what they could mean for her. She did not have to wonder for long. She watched as he took his right hand, and what looked now to be the claw of his forefinger, to cut a line of blood from the palm of his other hand with not even a grunt at the pain. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice hesitant. Wary.

Death dipped his thumb into the liquid and drew a sigil with it on her sternum as he spoke, eyes never leaving hers until he finished, “Marking you. Making it noted to all manner of beings both mortal and not, that body and soul, you shall be as mine as I am yours. For always.”

Elisabeth shivered and watched transfixed, as the crimson mark glowed a light that was both black and silver before it soaked into her skin until there was not even residue left behind. She swiped a hand where it had been. Nothing.

“Where did it go?” She looked back up him, confused and awed both all at once. A glimpse at his hand showed that there was no longer a wound to be found, nor even blood dripping on the floor.

“Your soul.”

“I don’t understand what is this all about? For, even.” Her eyes pleaded for him to explain. For understanding. 

Elisabeth watched as he suddenly began to take off his suit jacket, and lay it on one of the shelves, as he replied with a slight smirk to his lips, “I would have thought that the one person whose heart so replicated my own, would not need something so ephemeral as one of the mortal tongues to make something that is fact known to you.”

It took a moment for his words to register, but once they did, Elisabeth’s heart felt as if had constricted within her very chest looking back at him at that moment; him standing before her, buttons to his black dress shirt undone and looking down at her like a dream given form in the sun touched candlelight. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and her chest hurt, and oh God, she’d never wanted to be someone else as much as she did right then. Someone who wasn’t chained to the life of being an empress in name only. Who found Death more preferable as a lover than her husband had ever been, or ever could be. Someone who didn’t ache with loneliness down to their bones like it was a tangible poison that she had lived with all of her life. 

And yet, she knew his words for what they were, and would not have traded that moment itself for all of the freedoms of her once cherished innocence. Not for her past lives, not for  _ anything. _

He knelt before her again then, as he slid the last of his dress shirt off from his arms, discarded now, somewhere on the floor. He took her hands and leaned in close to her; close enough that their foreheads could easily touch, that they could breathe in the breath of one another, as he told her what sounded to Elisabeth’s ears, to be something akin to a proclamation from his heart, “Whilst you are still as one of the earth, I cannot promise you anything beyond that of what you already have, given your station. But, should the thought please you, I would pose a trade for that which is priceless: a soul for a heart. Yours for mine in a bond ever binding...even beyond death. I would give you freedom, then, in the form of an heir— many if you wish it. None that you would have would be that of your mortal husband’s. And in the sight of the gods, be they old in the heavens or new in the lower realms, he would no longer even be that.”

A moment of silence followed his words as Elisabeth processed all that he had said. Of the implications, of the  _ possibilities _ of it. In the next, she could see that the light in his eyes had dimmed, as she thought that he probably assumed that her silence was in rejection of him. She could feel his grip upon her loosen, and before he could fully pull away, Elisabeth found herself gripping his forearms and whispering as if they were in a cathedral and not her bathroom, “Where are you going?”

He frowned, “To perform my duty where it is needed if you are so eager to reject me again.”

“No, you aren't.” His frown deepened only to slide away into something like wonder as she took one of his hands and placed it on her sternum, “Tell me, Death, would it please you as much as I, to know that I would say yes?”

Death looked at her and sighed a smile at her as if she were the only thing that existed, “Oh, yes.”

The corner of her lips upturned as a thrill of pleaser ran through her at his words, “Then it seems that we’ve come to an agreement.”

At those words, he blinked at her, slowly, as if coming out of a reverie, before he had the mind enough to ask for her hand and cut it as he had done to his own. Blood beaded up from the stinging wound as he cradled her hand in his. He brought it up to his lips, breathing deeply, grey eyes watching her— seeing what she would do— as he licked at her wound. But Elisabeth did nothing—  _ could _ do nothing— but stare as he rested her hand down and licked the remnants of her life’s blood off of his soft lips. She wanted to kiss them.

“It is done.” Death’s gaze slid from her own, down to the curve of her collar bone, to the bareness of her chest, to the pool of lukewarm milk where the petals floated and clung to her as if she where in a spring pond. He brushed a lock of wet hair away from her shoulder and traced the curve of it, leaving a trail of gooseflesh there in its wake, “May I join you, Elisabeth?”

She could only nod in reply.

He stood then, and undid the buttons to his slacks, sliding down his toned legs, and a small gasp escaped from her as Elisabeth felt herself flush from head to toe at the full sight of him. She averted her eyes, but not before she saw the pleased smile his face at her reaction, or the very obvious fact, that yes, he wanted her.

Elisabeth heard the telltale sounds of clothes rustling further before looking up to seeing him settling across from her in the tub, their legs intertwining beneath the surface of it. He’d taken his hair down, and it framed his face in golden waves, as he looked at her with eyes heavy-lidded and wanting. She felt as he ran his hand up the back of her calf, his foot up the curve of her thigh, and Elisabeth’s heart thudded in her chest from it.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out with a rush of air.

But he did not answer her; instead, Death said with a gentle tug on her calf, “Come here.”

Elisabeth bit her lip, and after a moment, found herself sliding over towards him until she was practically straddling his waist; the backs of her thighs sitting on his own, and the feel of the intimacy of it sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the rising cold. He brought a hand to her face as he held her at the small of her back; his eyes danced all over her face before settling on her lips, “May I kiss you, Elisabeth?”

It was her turn now, to not answer him, but instead she asked, “What is it that you  _ want _ , Death?”

He brought his face close to hers, close enough that their noses touched, as he breathed out with a sudden fervor, while drawing his hand up to touch the underside of her breast, “What I  _ want  _ is to make love to my  _ wife _ .”

“Then yes,” she whispered, “kiss me.” And so he did; plush lips meeting her own in something that was soft and wanting, both. Elisabeth felt herself wrap her arms around his neck, her hands getting lost in the gold of his hair, the softness of it, as she shut her eyes to the light and succumbed to it all. She opened up, like a flower blooming from his attention, and a sigh that felt akin to coming home left her when the velvet of his tongue met her own; and like an ember being stoked to flame, the slow dance that they had been doing turned into something more. Something burning within the fervor. Fevered.

Elisabeth pressed herself closer to him, her nipples rubbing themselves upon his chest just as he rutted against the aching core of her, the movement ripping a smothered moan from her, while the bath milk splashed between them; Death’s lips barely leaving hers for a moment. Slowly, insistently, Elisabeth began to grind against the warm length of him as his hand tangled in her wet hair, the other clutching her hips almost hard enough to bruise. Oh God, how she wanted him. Craved him.  _ Needed _ him like a sinner yearning for salvation from the divine.

She’d never felt anything like this before. This liquid heat that she found herself with, coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. In all of the times before, when she had been naked and vulnerable in the arms of a man— in the arms of her husband— she had been stiff and unyielding with nerves, like a piece of log just before it was thrown into the fire. She had tried, at first, to like Franz Joseph’s attentions, after he had gotten over his own shyness at the sight of her figure bare. But she just couldn’t fake it. 

Sure, she had felt a fondness for him at first, that she had hoped would blossom into something true; but that wish had died a cruel death, when she woke the morning after their wedding to her mother-in-law harping on her about why her son hadn’t bedded her when they so desperately needed an heir. As if she had somehow had scared him away by the mere sight of her.

The very thought of that horrid memory made her eyes sting with unshed tears and robbed her of any remaining breath that she had had left in her chest. Elisabeth pulled away from Death, gasping for air, as she looked at him through the veil of tears that silently fell down her face. He was panting, too, but he said nothing as he waited for her to speak; only when a moment of silence passed without a word from her, he brought a hand up to wipe away a tear that had found itself on her cheek.

A smile tugged at his lips, “Am I so bad at kissing you, that I have driven you to tears?”

A sudden laugh bubbled up out of her, and he grinned at the sound of it.

“No,” she said through a watery smile, whilst quickly swiping away the remnants of said tears with the backs of her hands, “I would leave such a title to the emperor, I’m afraid.” 

No longer crying, and calmed now from the laughter, Elisabeth looked at him— into the concern hidden within the grey as he waited for her to continue, “But, no, you...you don’t kiss bad at all.” 

She looked down into the swirling whiteness of the bath, at the roses and dahlias petals that clung to their skin, whilst a flush rose to her cheeks as a sudden bout of shyness hit her at the sight of him from beneath her lashes. His lips were wet and kiss-swollen from her attentions, “They were wondrous.”

The smile he gave her then, was nothing short of wicked.

“Good,” he murmured, just before pressing a biting kiss to the side of her neck, his tongue laving the mark a heartbeat later, and thus eliciting a gasp from her at the feel of it all. Her hands grasped his shoulders as a small current of pleasure went down to her core.

Elisabeth felt as he began to leave love bites down her neck, his tongue caressing the blooming bruises that he’d leave behind in his wake. The sharpness of his teeth nipping upon her collarbone, whilst he thrust up against the softness of her— the wetness of her— soft moans leaving her mouth every time he rubbed against that spot that made her breathless. She shivered against him.

“I must wash them from your memory then— whatever it is that haunts you so,” Death said a moment before he sucked one dusky pink nipple into his mouth, and rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger, while a moan that was loud and foreign to Elisabeth’s own ears tumbled from her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, a sliver of panic worming its way into her heart at the sound. She’d never made any sound of the sort whenever she would be with Franz Joseph, and it had been so loud she was sure that any second now there would be a knock on the door from one of the servants come to investigate.

But there was no knock, or much sound either, save for the whines that she’d managed to trap behind her hand for a moment before Death ripped her hand away and he glared up at her as he pulled away from her chest, “Don’t, I want to hear you after so long of nothing.”

“And besides,” he smiles against her lips, “they would only hear spring winds should they try to listen at all. Now,” his smile slipped away as Death’s eyes turned into darkened into a grey bordering upon a storm, “climb on top of my face. I want to taste the sweetness of you while you cry my name to the heavens.”

Elisabeth felt her face turn hot with a flush, whilst her stomach fluttered from the wings of butterflies at his words.

Carefully he lifted her from the bath, milk running down her bareness in rivulets like white rain spattered with flowers. She stood uncertain above him for a moment as he slid a tad lower into the bath, long hands with nails that were almost claws but not, gripped the soft flesh of her thighs, kneading them as his soft lips peppered slow kisses all over her skin, his tongue and teeth not long behind them. But never there, where she wanted it, and a whine left her for it.

“Please,” she pleaded softly, as the heat from wanting him burned within her, like tinder set alight from his very presence; from the touch of his skin to her own.

Death looked up at her beneath long, dark golden lashes as he hummed, his lips pressed at the juncture between her inner thigh and the core of her. His breath fanned out against her as he spoke, the corners of his lips curling into a smile something teasing, “Well, I suppose since you asked so sweetly….”

His hand came up towards her, and he stroked her, gently, like the petals of a flower just bloomed. Even against but the knuckles of his fingers she felt slick with arousal; and a hiss of a whine slipped from her at the feel of him there, grazing against that spot that her curious fingers had discovered in the dead of night, and could make her see stars. 

Without warning, Death tugged her swiftly until his soft lips— God above, the velvet of his  _ tongue _ — met her there; a shuddering gasp like something wretched left her throat, her hand clutching to the rim of the tub, the other tangled within the roots of his hair, whilst a groan akin to a man on his deathbed from thirst finding water for the first time in ages, came from him below. His eyes were shut as he tasted her, savored her, in— what looked like to Elisabeth— to be bliss.

She felt him move against her, his mouth never leaving her flesh for a moment, and without her realizing when it occurred, Elisabeth found herself grinding against his mouth, a torrent of moans, of curses, coming from her with every beat of her heart. With every electric jolt that would run up her spine as Death’s tongue licked at her, stealing her breath with it. She felt like she was both dying and being reborn all at once in his arms.

When she looked down at him, their eyes met right as he went from licking her incessantly, to sucking her, and the sight of it— the  _ feel _ of it— was so much that she barely recognized the sound that left her then. There as she gripped his hair hard enough that it must have hurt, with her legs shaking on either side of his face, and euphoria bloomed behind her eyelids. Elisabeth thought then, that it had sounded something like his name.

Death pulled away from her, panting slightly, as he ran his hand languidly over her shivering thigh, while the other held her steady at her hip. His lips were red and wet from her arousal as he looked at her with eyes that were half-lidded and promising. Elisabeth watched as he licked them clean like a cat that was anything but satisfied.

His gaze slid back to where lips had just been, and a smile tugged at them; a pleased and possessive thing as his hand slid up to the dripping wetness of her, and rubbed her  _ there _ with just enough pressure that Elisabeth’s breath stuttered in her chest. His voice upon speaking sounded something like smoke and the not-yet burn of embers, whilst his fingers slid in her leaving her clutching his shoulder for support, “How pretty it is, this honey-sweet cunt of yours.”

Death left an open mouthed kiss over her sternum, his soft lips pressed against the cage of bone and skin that held her thundering heart. His hand moved in her, crooking as his fingers rubbed a spot that left her feeling full and teetering on the edge of oblivion both, as Elisabeth ground on the soft firmness of his palm. So it was only natural that she wanted to cry when he pulled away, and left her feeling empty and feverish from his ministrations. Death’s lips brushed the skin just behind her ear— a ghost of a feeling, really— as he whispered, while tugging her back down onto his lap, “Not yet, sweetling. I want to be with you properly first.”

Elisabeth was glad then, her legs bled of all strength from pleasure and his words both, that she was seated once again. All of a sudden, the urge to kiss him overtook her, and before she could blink, Elisabeth found herself with her arms around his neck, and her lips against his as a pleased hum left him at the action. Their tongues met with a sigh, and mirrored gasps left them both as the feel of her grinding against his hardness— against his want for her.

Elisabeth pulled away, just enough that her lips ghosted over his own, their noses meeting just barely, as her eyes of burnt umber met molten silver, and she whispered to a Death a confession of the heart. The soul even. 

“I want you, Death. I want you so much that sometimes it scares me with its intensity.” A shuddering breath left her, but she didn’t take her eyes from his, not once, even as she shook in his arms from an energy that hummed from within her veins— her blood, “I-I don’t know how to do this. Every time I do anything akin to existing beyond that of a  _ concept  _ for other people to dictate, I am told that I shouldn’t have. That I’ll regret it. So much so, that, when I first met you, I thought you were an angel sent to deliver me from my torment. Even though I still have this foolish hope that one day it won’t hurt so much to live. But, I’ve dreamed of you even. Did you know that? A countless amount of times. Of a garden of roses and dahlias. Of a little girl with copper brown hair and silver eyes. That in this mortal life of mine, it is not Franz Joseph I am married to, but you. They would feel so real, those dreams, that I would cry upon waking.”

Elisabeth tasted salt upon her lips, and realized then, that at some point she had started crying. That at some point he had, too, “I think I’ve always loved you.”

Death said nothing as he brought his hands up and wiped away the tears that had fallen down her face, his lips meeting her own in something soft that tasted like tears and deliverance. Slowly the pressure increased until the kiss became kisses that were anything but soft or holy. He tasted bittersweet, like the petals of snow dusted rose petals. Elisabeth’s blood still hummed with an energy— a want— that was foreign to her understanding as she kissed him there in that bath— which felt like a world of their own in and of itself entire— but she knew it like a chant that rose from her soul calling for him, him,  _ him _ .

“Death,” Elisabeth said breathless, her eyes meeting his as she thumbed his kiss-swollen lower lip, hips circling— hovering—  along the part of him that made him gasp with every move she made, “Take me, please.”

He smiled as he reached down to angle himself towards her entrance, the promise of him there—  _ so close _ — robbing her of breath completely, “As you wish, Elisabeth.” When he thrust inside her she couldn’t breathe; when he moved, she keened, eyes shut and lost in the feel of him filling her until she couldn’t think anymore.

She’d never had sex like this before, wanton and wanting and grinding herself down upon a man like this. She felt as vulnerable as she felt free, bare as she was, and moving as she was, upon him; clutching his shoulders for dear life as he met his thrusts with her own, the long cold bath milk sloshing in the tub with their movements. Their cries echoed like a chorus within the walls of her bathing chamber.

It did not take them long to find their rhythm, Elisabeth’s hips rolling down to meet him in such a way that he was left panting as he placed open mouthed kisses all along her chest, and lavished her breasts with the attention of his mouth. The wanting of his teeth. She clenched him hard when he hit that spot inside her that left her with his name pouring from her lips, like a libation that tasted like sin upon her tongue. Floral and honeysweet and everything that she’d ever wanted.

“Oh God, Death, Death,  _ Death _ .” She did not know when her fingers had tangled themselves within the golden threads of his hair, but they had, his grip upon her hips nearly bruising. The claws almost drawing blood and dying the white of the bath crimson.

His voice sounded dark and full of forbidden secrets that she was want to know as he spoke words that made her feel hot all over, “Yes, there you go. That’s it.” A smile of pleasured pride came upon his face as he looked down into the shallow bath; down to where they were connected, “That’s my girl.”

Elisabeth’s breath caught as a particularly well-angled thrust of his had that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs grind upon his lower stomach, and left her clinging to the edge of her sanity, panting all the while. Wanting to stay and leap over, both.

“Please,” she whimpered, hands tugging at the roots of Death’s hair, and earning her a grunt for it.

Death looked up at her with those pretty eyes of his, lust-blown and shining silver in the firelight, lips red and soft and  _ sweet _ , as he asked her what she wanted. What she wanted was to kiss him senseless. What she wanted even more was for him to make her come on his cock until she forgot her own name as she cried his. 

Elisabeth settled for pulling him close to meet his lips to hers as she ground down onto him; the both of them moaning, skin to skin, between their kisses of lips, teeth, and velvet. The liquid fire that had smoldered for so long within the bottom of her stomach came alight then, burning her skin from the inside out like magma was in her blood, and Death was her only reprieve.

Their movements became frantic as they clung to each other to the point of bruising. Hands and teeth scrambling for purchase all over one another— as if they were afraid that in a moment, they would blink and it would have all been nothing but a fantasy. The both of them having faded in the others arms like a shadow of a dream upon waking. 

She felt him reach down and encircle with his thumb that spot that sent jolts of lightning all along her nerves, his mouth barely a hair's breadth away from her own. Her eyes fluttered as she clung so hard to his back that she was sure he’d scar. 

“I love you like this.” Death kissed her cheek, her jaw, and a shudder went through her at the intimacy of it, “Unrestrained and raw and  _ wild  _ like a nymph who’s mine and mine alone to hear the siren song of. To drown in it.”

His hand traveled up and rested on her lower stomach, a smile coloring his words, his voice husky and smooth all at once, “I cannot wait for when you are finally heavy with my child in your womb. Stomach round and skin soft as you bring forth life from the spirit world never-ending.”

Death kissed her behind her ear again as he slowly thrust his hips in time with his words, teasing her more, as he breathed out a whisper, “Do you think, dearest, that we shall conceive this morn’? Or should we try again, and again, and  _ again _ ?” 

Elisabeth rolled her hips, earning a hiss of pleasure from him, as she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

She heard him chuckle, and she gasped when she felt the sharpness of his teeth tug on her ear; the clawed softness of his hands on the flesh of her ass, “Good.”

Elisabeth had little warning then, when Death began to thrust into her, harder and faster than before, his strokes seeming to match the tempo of her thundering heart. She scrambled to find purchase as he fucked her hard, the bath milk becoming a sloshing mess all around them, as she cried his name and profanities both into the morning air.

Suddenly she felt his hand rubbing that bundle of nerves again, right as he sucked her right nipple hard with teeth and tongue both; leaving her eyes shut and chanting yeses as the electric feeling of it went straight to her aching cunt. The moan that left her as she fell off of that ledge of her sanity might have been his name, but it sounded too animalistic for her to know. For her to even care. 

She tasted copper and something like honey and roses on her tongue, her lips, a moment before she realized that her teeth were in Death’s neck and the liquid she tasted was his blood. It reminded her of what ambrosia must taste like. Her nails were dug into the flesh of his back, tangled in the golden waves of his hair; and when she pulled away from his neck just enough to lick the crimson away clean, Elisabeth felt Death shudder and let out a choked moan of her name. The sound of it was shaky, and vulnerable, but as he held her ever closer, the warmth of his release spreading throughout her, Elisabeth realized that he’d said her name like a caress, as if she was something to be treasured. As if she was the only thing that he’d ever wanted.

Elisabeth pulled away to look at him properly, every part of her sensitive and languid as she took his face in her hands and tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear, a lazy smile covering his face. The firelight dancing off of the light in his eyes— the love for her that shone in them.

Death leaned forward then, and kissed away the tears that she hadn’t even realized she’d been shedding, the trails of them, plain on her face, “I would have thought that, should I have one, with attentions such as those, that no wife of mine would want for anything. That I wouldn’t let them.”

Elisabeth huffed out a smile, “Then you would be right, save for the fact that I’ve been in this bath for too long already. They’ll come looking for me soon.” They laughed as she showed him how pruned her fingers had become, Death immediately leaning close to kiss the tips of them, whilst her face grew hot from the very sight of him doing so. 

Carefully they managed to untangle themselves from one another, leaving the bath, finally, and wrapping themselves in large white towels that had been folded away. Hair slightly damp still, Elisabeth looked at Death as she tucked a strand behind her ear, a sudden bout of shyness overtaking her at the sight of him standing there, barely covered and firelit within the sunlight. 

He glanced to the high view outside of the bathroom window that showed much of the castle grounds and Vienna below it, “And there is much that I must do as well.”

He looked back at her just as a frown had started to form on her face, despite her knowing that he couldn’t stay forever. He was Death after all, and was bound to all of the duties that that implied. Being involved with a girl of an empress was surely not one of them.

“Elisabeth.”

She looked up at the sound of her name only to find him suddenly clothed and barely an arm’s length away from her— maybe even less than that— feeling the softness of her hair as they curled around his long fingers. She watched, transfixed, as he brought it up to his face and breathed in the scent of it for a moment before letting it go. Memorizing the scent of her.

“I will visit you for as often as I am able, with no need for you to summon me so with the thoughts of a sad heart like before. For the new and full moons at least. There is great magic in the air then. But beyond that I cannot promise you, for you want a mortal life, while I want and am, all that which is in the ever-after.” Elisabeth nodded as she stared at him with the single-minded purpose of wanting to have him ingrained in her memory to the point that if she closed her eyes, she’d be able to relive this very moment like a painting made real. To feel it, smell it even.

Death cradled her face and kissed her, then. It was deep and soft and it made her soul soar as much as it made her heartbreak, to feel his lips on hers. Her hands shook from her wanting to hold him close to her. It only lasted for a moment, but when he pulled away, Elisabeth heard him whisper, “Until we meet again for the last time, Elisabeth. Until the end. Until forever.”

When she opened her eyes, she was alone in the bathroom; wrapped only in a towel, and looking at where he had been as one grasps for a fading dream upon waking, looking for a trace of him, and yet, nothing remained. Nothing but the feel a warmth that was almost like frostbite from the touch of him on her skin, and the aftertaste of his kiss, and the blood that still coated her tongue and stained her teeth crimson. It reminded her of something death-sweet— of roses and dahlias.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me here:  
> \- Twitter: @empressofhorror  
> \- Tumblr: @empressofhorror


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